ASS 'Deceptive Snugglebunny'
by tigersilver
Summary: NextGen with a generous helping of H/D. Scorpius is assaulted by a very snuggly Albus Severus at the supper table. He knows not what to make of this startling development. Featuring a high-speed chase scene.


**Author:** **tigersilver**  
><strong>Title:<strong> Deceptive Snugglebunny'  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 8,500  
><strong>Beta:<strong> **blueboyfey***  
><strong>WarningsNotes:** Epi-compliant, at a stretch. AS/S, Side of Harry/Draco. Featuring a high-speed chase scene. This is (at long last) the **help_japan** fic I've owed the incredibly patient **susan5124** , who so graciously donated to aid Japan a billion years ago (or so it seems to Tiger, who's been lost in the tides of time for months now). This, my dear, is actually _not_ the fic you were waiting for. _This_ is the fic that slammed your ditzy Tiger into a wall this morning and made itself known, quite forcefully. The other fic, the 'real one', is still hung up in virus-land, currently bedridden. I do sincerely hope this will do in the meantime. In a positive light, tho', this effectively means you've earned a _twofer_! Good-oh! [Thanks to **blueboyfey*** for a fast _after-the-fact _beta rescue! ETERNAL*GLOMP!] 

"Oh, for chrissake, Al," sixteen-year old Scorpius Malfoy huffed, "remove your arse from my thighs, git!"

Scorp was a champion huffer; he'd a finely developed sense of place and timing, too. If he said Al should remove himself, then likely Al should. But he wasn't planning on it, the little wanker. Scorp knew the moment he got a decent look at those green peepers of his. The git was up to no good.

But the git said nothing. He only giggled and snuggled closer, draping himself all over Scorpius and clinging—ruddy clinging!

"Gerroff, I say!" Scorp insisted. It was the evening meal and everyone had gathered—what was Al thinking? This sort of behaviour earned one detention with one's overly stern Head of House or (bloody hell!) possibly even the Headmaster, the most powerful Wizard alive and kicking. It was not to be recommended, having a bloke plonked atop one's interested bits at the supper table. "Come on, Al—please?"

Al smiled beatifically but uttered not a word. He licked Scorp's chin, too, which didn't help matters; especially as he made loud lip smacking noises doing so and gave every evidence of enjoyment. But he made no move to depart.

Naturally the Head of Ravenclaw House decided to affix them both with his trademark gimlet grey glare at that moment. Silvery eyes rested upon the red-faced Scorpius and his unfortunate lapful of Potter Junior. It was hideously embarrassing for the Head's son.

"Ahem," Professor Malfoy cleared his throat discreetly and turned to lean across the very short distance that separated him from the Headmaster up at the High Table.

Scorp, straining his eyes, could make out a series of muffled whispers and eyebrow twitching and then came the expected reproving glances from the both of them, Head of House and Headmaster, all directed at _him_. As if he were the brainless sod who'd invited the Headmaster's middle child to camp out on his cock! It was not fair—it was not right, nor proper! He'd not asked Al to situate himself so awkwardly upon his person (which was not physically awkward at all, really, as Al's arse was a lovely flexible specimen and had adjusted itself nicely to the raging John Thomas currently poking up against Scorp's uniform trousers). Still and all, Scorp was certain, they were in for it.

He hissed through his teeth in annoyance; Al laid the sweetest of smooches upon his youthful five o'clock stubble and gave a hug, grinning like the veriest ninny.

"Al!" Scorp begged, wriggling beneath the shorter boy's weight, "what the fuck?" he demanded. He tried shoving Al gently, hoping to tip the pesky Potterling right off him and back onto the bench where he belonged.

Al only grunted and treated Scorp to a piteously injured look. Then he fastened himself to his victim yet more firmly, as if he were glued to Scorp's chest, shoulders, ribcage, and thighs. All of those brainless Scorpian parts were quite overjoyed to have Al thusly cemented; it was only Scorp's actual brain that objected.

"Aargh!" he cried out, and turned frantically to his next-door neighbor, as the glares from the Head Table showed no signs of subsiding and people were beginning to point and murmur. "Bones, help me! He won't get off my lap!"

"Serves you right," Claudia Anne Bones snickered at him, the useless bint. "S'not like it's any different from any other day, is it? Deal with it, Scorp—you're on your own. I'm not laying a hand on him. He'll hex me."

Scorp snorted, highly aggravated. It was true Ravenclaw was more than accustomed to seeing Albus Potter decorating Scorp's arm—or lap—or even face, whenever they fell to snogging in the sanctity of the Common Room. Al and Scorp had been an accepted item for some years now, though it wasn't a relationship either of them broadcasted. The parents didn't know, for one thing, and well, both had agreed fairly early on it would only alert the nastier gossipy elements of the Press and possibly even bring the full eye of the media down upon them were it to be known they were regularly boinking each other. Neither family—being famed and ill famed already—needed any more attention that they already received. Besides, the Ravenclaw Head of House—Scorp's father, Professor Malfoy—seldom intruded there and neither did Headmaster, Al's Dad. So they were safe, generally. Especially as all the Ravenclaws had long since gone beyond their initial scientific interest in the basic mechanics of how Al and Scorp got it off and were quite blasé about the whole thing.

"Thanks, Claudia Anne," Scorp scowled. "Thanks so much; I'll keep that in mind next time you need a helping hand."

"Sorry," Bones shrugged. "You know Al will hex me if I so much as touch you. Jealous git, isn't he?"

Scorp nodded reluctantly, agreeing to that. Al was a green-eyed prat, both literally and figuratively—and currently he was all but purring, clasping his arms about Scorp's waist and making like an adorable baby Kneazle.

It was incredibly cute and a total turn-on, yes, but it was also dangerous as fuck. Unwanted attention was still unwanted!

"Al! _Fuck_, Al—they're staring at us," Scorp tried again, desperate to disengage. "Let go, will you? Or at least say something!"

Because Al hadn't yet—not a peep, not a syllable. He must be angry with Scorp, then, though Scorp had no clue why, exactly. Though maybe…just perhaps, it was that touchy topic Al had brought up early this morning, before breakfast. Something about coming out, at least to their fathers.

Scorp had objected vehemently, of course, every part of him rejecting the very idea. Just because they were a generally known entity, couple-wise, amongst their own mates and peers didn't mean they could just shove that up Authority's noses without some sort of polite warning. And Authority, in the form of their fathers—powerful Wizards both, and known to be quite firm when it came to statutory discipline and playing favourites—were sending Scorp and Al glowers that boded absolutely no good and much enventuating ill in the offing. Scorp was still of the opinion that the less attention of any sort received, the better. That hadn't changed, especially as it allowed them to take far more liberties than they would normally, being the attending children of Hogwarts senior staff.

Scorp's Dad was a real stickler. Al's Dad was the bloody Boy Who Persisted Living, Despite Dark Lords. And both the Potter and the Malfoy elders—despite the facts that they, too, were shagging regularly and recently in the private confines of the Headmaster's office _and_ Professor Malfoy was the appointed Deputy Headmaster—were popularly understood to be at tremendous odds, yet. It was awkward, to say the least, the entire situation.

Almost as awkward—and frustrating—as the little tiff he and Al had had in their shared bed this morning.

"Oh, hey Al—what is it, really? You in a strop, still? You know we can't do what you wanted, Al—we agreed, remember?"

Al only stared at him mutely, green eyes wide and filled with a very strange light, and set about to rubbing Scorp's interested prick straight through the layers of cloth, sporting a rather wickedly Slytherinesque sort of leer.

"Oh!" Scorp gasped, jerking to attention. "Oh—_ah_! Albus!"

Scorp was visited with the sudden fancy that Al had wished to communicate something crucial, and possibly urgently. Why else was he sucking so sensuously on Scorp's earlobe like that? And his wand hand—his left one, as Al was ambidextrous—and roughened as it was by all that brilliant broom handling he performed in Quidditch, well…it was handling Scorp's own stick with an alacrity and skill level befitting a sodding professional.

Scorp gasped. Albus did ought but grin up at him saucily, eyes twinkling as Scorp shifted ever more uneasily beneath that devilish hand of his: hot-cheeked, open-mouthed and plucking nervously at his tight collar. Two sets of eyebrows located at the High Table (one terribly fair and with a decided arch; the other black and distinctly puzzled) elevated ever higher as the scion of Malfoy writhed helplessly beneath the studied ministrations of the second son of Potter.

"Ahhhh—_ungh_! Al—please, please stop," Scorp groaned desperately, promptly forgetting any fancies he entertained but for the one brilliant one: starring Albus Severus Potter, tucked beneath the safety of the dining table and giving Scorpius Malfoy glorious head with great enthusiasm. "I'm gonna come, Al! I will!" Scorp warned vainly, losing the battle with sense and sensibility both in a instant.

Al remained mute as a Skrewt and smiling, and never ceased all that excellent fondling action. He squirmed his fit person about, as well; twining his ankles 'round Scorp's taut hamstrings and grinding his pert arse quite deliberately down upon Scorp's spread knees. As he'd shifted to straddle him the instant Scorp had attempted to shove him off earlier, this bump-and-grind routine was extremely effective in diverting Scorp's lust-hazed gaze from their two irate sires.

"Oh-oh-ah!" Scorp panted. "Ah-aaah-aaahhh! Aaaahl-busss!".

Scorp's hips thrust of their own volition; his bollocks drew up in a tight, hot mass, ready to give fire. His mouth dropped fully open on a silent howl and he closed his tortured eyes, mercifully blanking out the appalled features of the elder Potter and Malfoy. HIs heart quailed; he daren't look a moment longer.

His brain, however, that Ravenclaw Honours-level marvel, busily ran a few fast stats through his excessively rapid-fire neurons, calculating that he'd just about thirty seconds remaining before the point of positively no return. Plenty of time to: a) be handed double detentions for the remainder of Sixth Year, if not for the extent of both their collective lifetimes; b) be humiliated before absolutely everyone present; and c) likely inspire some prize idiot to go running off instantly to the Press with a major scoop.

Because it wasn't only their fathers who were watching; oh, no! It was also their peers and (oh, Brede!) the faculty, too, who were, from the very tiniest, most innocent of Hufflepuff First Year Witches to the very eldest of Profs, Emeritus, i.e. Flitwick, who were all staring fixedly and with undeniable fascination their way. At one Al Potter, who wriggled most delightfully and moaned most theatrically, an incipient porn star in the making, his wand hand working away at Scorp's straining cock, and also at one Scorpius Malfoy, formerly only praised for his excellent marks and stellar manners, who'd been quickly reduced to near drooling and rendered mostly speechless.

"Urrr!" Scorp groaned. "Nrrrgh! Co-co—_com_-!"

Well, not quite speechless, maybe, but of a certainty Scorp was not coherent.

"Urk! Oi!" he yelped faintly. "_What the_?"

"Hah! Gotcha!" Al exclaimed triumphantly—first words he'd addressed to Scorp in bloody hours, actually—with a fascinating wrist twist and a startlingly tight clench of slim fingers. All Malfoy-produced ejaculate halted abruptly mid-flow, stymied. "Don't bloody well think so, git," Albus sneered, "not till you say you're sorry."

"Sorry?" Scorp howled. "What for!"

He nearly keeled from his seat at the table, stunned and gurgling. He was no longer coming—oh, no! That would be sodding impossible, what with the human cock ring attached to the throbbing base of his manhood. It was a quite tight grip, too, and a bit nasty, withal. Vicious, even. Scorp winced, once again attempting to off his boyfriend from his tortured lap.

"Gah!" he yelped. "You-you-_you little bastard_! What was _that_ for, git?"

He blinked his befuddled fury, staring narrow-eyed at his utter raving nutter of a boyfriend. Who'd been a total snugglebunny and the hottest, fittest thing on the surface of the planet just a second before and now—decidedly—did not fit that complimentary description.

Scorp frowned his understandable confusion. Many things were not right about this whole situation—their father's dark scowls, for one thing; the fact that most of the student body had risen from their meals to garner a better view of Scorp being jacked off by Al at the supper table for another. But one item did present a definite question.

"And why're you speaking to me, all the sudden?" Scorp demanded, giving Al a tiny shake in passing. "I thought I was still on the receiving end of the patented Potter silent treatment. And I still don't even know what I did wrong!"

"Yes, you do!" Al hissed, glaring. "You know exactly, you pusillanimous wanker! Now shut your stupid gob—Dad's about to say something!"

"A-hem."

The Headmaster of Hogwarts—youngest one ever, the papers proudly hailed-cleared his throat gently, sending a beetle-brow glaring out at the masses of Hogwarts students and staff—some pointing and carrying on, some overcome with shock or hilarity or sheer silliness—but all completely immersed with the goings-on at Ravenclaw table.

"Attention, riff-raff!" Professor Malfoy barked stentoriously, when the rabble didn't subside respectfully. A silence instantly fell; no one messed with Draco Malfoy and lived to boast of it, not even his fellow academic and drinking mate, Professor Longbottom.

"Ahem," Headmaster repeated. "Thank you, Deputy. As I was saying, that's quite enough excitement for now, children," the Saviour of the Wizarding World informed them all sternly. With pink cheeks and shamefaced looks the students sat back and tuned their eyes to either their plates or the High Table.

"Settle down," the Headmaster continued kindly, "or you'll all receive detention in the Forbidden Forest in place of your usual Hogsmeade weekend. And I am perfectly serious when I say that, students."

"Precisely so," the Head of Ravenclaw chimed in, his well bred tones fulgent with very real threat. "And one more thing—they'll not be a word of this little…incident…mentioned, ever. Is that clear?"

As a one, the gathered nodded and muttered their assent, blushing and ducking chins to avoid the dire eye of Hogwart's legendary Deputy Headmaster, he the celebrated author of the texts Hexing the Death Eater Way: A Memoir, Highly Advanced Arithmancy: Not For Dummies and Hogwarts, An Unbiased Up-to-Date History. Professor Malfoy—Scorp's Dad—was a fucking celebrity in his own right, nearly as famous as Al's Dad. Between them they made quite a pair, Scorp thought proudly. No wonder…

"Boys!" he barked. "I _will_ see you in my office directly after this meal. Do not—I repeat—do _not_ even consider skiving!"

"Oh, fuckity-fuck-fuck!" Scorp exclaimed softly, piteously, hideously frustrated and infuriated in more ways than he could actually count. Albus smirked at him from his perch across Scorp's trembling thighs. "Now see what you've done, prat!" he complained. "They'll skin us alive, Al! You arse!"

"Huh, we'll see about that,"

Al was unrepentant. He finally eased off Scorp's lap and took up his accustomed place on Scorp's right side with great impunity, pulling his half-consumed meal toward him.

"S'not likely, git," he added smugly.

Scorp's jaw dropped for possibly the third time during the meal. He made a mental note to himself to work on his sangfroid.

"Eh?"

"Look, they're having a few issues, right? Your Dad and mine? So they each buttonholed me separately and were—get this—asking me for relationship advice, each of them. Just this morning, Scorp. Imagine my shock, yeah?"

"Er? Really?"

Scorp was intrigued; almost enough to forgive Al for publicly hanging him out to dry and earning them both who knew what sorts of horrible punishments. "Well, alright—don't stop there. Tell me more, git!"

Al humped a casual shoulder and stuffed his mouth full of roast beef and mash.

"Well, it's like this," he mumbled. "My Dad wants to come out and your Dad's really hesitant over it. Said something about your Mum asking for more Galleons if he did?"

"Oh, yeah," Scorp nodded. "She does that. Just as a general tactic, really. Mum's a Slytherin, too, you'll recall?" At Al's quick nod, he continued. "In any event, Dad's been plenty generous to her already in the divorce settlement and I told her so."

"Right, right," All nodded his understanding. "Yeah. Mine were fine that way when they split up—Mum's earning all that lovely lolly from Holyhead plus Dad must've turned over half his vault. So, yes, as I was saying—"

"Yeah? Go on."

"My Dad's been trying to convince your Dad and your Dad's resisting and my Dad's fed up with it all, so he asked me to help. Mum's away, you know that, right?"

"Yes, America. Right? For the Quodpot Invitational, yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Anyway, Dad's got no one he trusts to consult with, right? As James always just laughs his stupid arse off and Lils is Slytherin and you know how they are, right?"

"Mm-hmm," Scorp nodded knowingly. "That's likely part of my Dad's issue, or whatever fit it is he's pitching."

"Yeah, it is, I think. Well, I tell my Dad he has to confront your Dad—"

"Why?" Scorp interrupted. "Won't the papers have a field day, if they do? What about the Board of Governors? They'd freak!"

Al shook his messy head, sill gobbling.

"Nope. Auntie Luna's got the entire Board by the short hairs—she's Madame President, remember? No freaking there. Plus your Dad—"

"Just last week bought fifty-one percent of both the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_. Of course." Scorp nodded. "Go on, then. What happened next?"

"Oh, er—yeah, hang on a tick, will you?"

Al turned to whack the student sitting next to him hard on the elbow with his fork, right on the funny bone. Claudia Anne Bones drew back, whimpering in pain and wincing as she shook it out. She glared, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Huh!" Al waved a finger at her. "Serves you right for eavesdropping! Stop horning in, Claws," Al told her nastily. "This isn't any of your beeswax!"

"Muffliato," Scorp waved a careful forefinger. "There. Right, good. Keep on with it, Al. I want to know what my Dad said to you, sometime this week, please."

"Oh, yeah, that," Al giggled through his mouthful.

He was shoveling down food at a great rate—the pudding, now—and normally the slurp-chew-crunch of someone eating like a bloody hippogriff would gross Scorp out something fierce. But Al—not bloody Al. Al was bloody special, at least in Scorp's opinion. _He_ always managed to look sexy as all Hades when he ate. It was something about the way his lips stretched and moved so supplely, perhaps…or maybe it was the bob-and-swallow. Whatever, it inspired pleasant memories and some rather memorable fantasies, too.

"That's a good 'un, too, Scorp," Al chuckled. "Let me tell you—"

Scorp gulped with some difficulty, a hand straying to his bits, just imagining. His bits were still very much present, lurking there behind his flies, making themselves known, as it were. But Al was chattering away and Scorp really did want to know what his Dad had done. It could affect his life adversely, after all, one way or another. And Dad hadn't ceased staring beadily at them both for a second—whatever detention he dished out was sure to be hell on wheels!

He'd have to exercise yet more self-control, Scorp told himself. No more nearly getting his rocks off in public places—no more of this 'all eyes on them, because what could it hurt?' nonsense Al had come up with out of the blue!

Still…Scorp found himself rather yearning for Al's fingers,. Or his luscious mouth…or his scrumptious arse. He was in definite need, yet. Blue bollocks were a serious affliction.

"Your Dad grabs me, okay?" Al went on his merry way, not minding in the slightest his lover's state of extremis. "Bloody well accosts me. Drags me right into his office, yeah, and locks the door—Silencer and everything. The whole nine yards."

Scorp shook his head sharply and tried earnestly to pay attention; what was this nonsense about his father?

"Right after Potions; you'd likely already booked off to the Library, swot," Al told him. "Knowing you. And then he says to me that he's not at all pleased with my father at the moment and exactly what was up with all us Potters, placing him in a poor position and making him out to be some sort of home-wrecker? Which he isn't, of course. I don't believe they even laid so much as a pinkie on one another till maybe two months ago—well after all the divorce kerfuffle."

"Mmm-hmm," Scorp nodded. "He can be like that, my Dad. Very socially conscious, we Malfoys."

He could see that happening, absolutely. Everyone knew there was lingering resentment between the honourable House of Potter and the ill-starred but equally famed House of Malfoy—on the senior level, at least. Total bosh, of course, given recent developments between certain fathers on staff. But still…that's what the silly Press still bellowed, the berks.

"Then he does this total verbal about-face, sneakily—you know how he is?"

"That's my Dad!" Scorp interjected proudly. "Good-oh!"

"And not so subtly indicates he is interested in what my Dad has been nattering on about, which is come out and make it clear to everyone and his brother they're an item. As if anyone with eyes couldn't help but see!"

"'Kay," Scorp shrugged, "and the actual issue, Al?"

"Your father, Scorp, doesn't want to admit to mine he's been stalling, apparently, or why he has, either—I think it bothered him, the whole Galleons thing?—so he wants to maneuver my Dad into forcing his hand, rather. Make it seem like they have to come clean, instead of want to, follow?"

"Really, really? That's odd," Scorp blinked. "Usually he's more of a go-getter when he wants something, Al. Might be sly about it and all but still very, ah, forceful."

"Really, really." Al nodded agreeably. "Very draconian, really, your papa. Also rather dense, if you don't mind my saying so," Al finished off the last of his food and took a deep draught of his butterbeer. "My Dad's gagging over him. Think he'd notice it, yeah?"

Scorp shrugged again, philosophically. "That's my Dad, yeah. What can you do, eh?"

"Exactly. Blind wankers, the both of them. Pathetic."

"Yeah, so?" Scorp prompted. "And what else happened? Dinner's nearly over, Al. And now we've got detention, you git."

Scorp's body was the entity that was rather eager to flee the Hall, actually—not the rest of him. But any welcome relief from ever more pressing pressure in his groin area seemed a long way off in coming if they were to be hauled over the coals immediately after supper. He poked tentatively at the idea of ducking into the loo on the return journey to Ravenclaw and his unhappy pater's office. It struck a good solid chord, that thought, almost melodious. Appealing.

"Er, hurry," he urged, his cock resonating to beguiling music of possible relief. "Get on with the rest, git. Everyone's nearly finished, Al!"

Al snorted, flapping a hand at him. "Go on with you—we've five more minutes at least. Keep your bloody hair on."

"Git!" Scorp scowled. "I want to hit the head, alright? I, ah—need to, if you know what I mean?"

Al only smiled knowingly, that flapping hand settling to rest every so casually in Scorp's lap, right directly atop what he was now thinking of as the 'problem area'.

"Al!" he growled in warning. "Don't. You. Dare!"

Al chortled, nudging their arms together, and gave Scorp's cock a comforting little pat.

"Right. So, anyway, I told him—in a roundabout way, naturally—that he should out them in public. He should plan something shocking—a real attention-seeking device, okay? Like maybe snog Dad at the Ministry or—or Hogsmeade High Street or the like? You know—really shock everyone watching, so then Dad would have a valid excuse to tell the rags they're an item because he rather has to. But to make sure to have it appear accidental…um, like one of them was under a spell or a curse, maybe."

"Al...riiiight," Scorp nodded slowly. "Seems little farfetched, git, but I s'pose it would do for the oldsters. Sort of puerile, but then they're not much for scheming. And then? What did Father say to that?"

"He sort of blushed and mumbled, actually. And then I said I'd show him how it's done. Which I have, just. And that's it."

Al, having polished off both his supper and his tale and revved up Scorp to high dudgeon with that insidious Seeker's grip of his, beamed up at Scorp, his eyes sparkling with a lovely, lovely light. He looked delicious; Scorp realized suddenly he was bloody famished.

"End story."

Scorp blinked, forcing down his natural lust and concentrating instead on the ramifications of his boyfriend's revelation. What did their silly fumbling father's affairs mean to them? What was the catch, here? Because, knowing Al Potter as Scorp did, there had to be some sort of caveat. There always was.

There occurred precisely three long beats of extended silence between them: ta-tum, ta-tum,ta-**TUM**! During this brief intermission, Scorp's brain went in a whir of activity so rapid he practically felt his eyeballs spinning in their sockets.

Cha-_**ching**_!

His brain clicked. In fact, it all clicked, coming together in a blazing rush: Al, Scorp's delightfully Deceptive Snugglebunny, his own father's recent and highly unusual air of abstraction, the Headmaster's apparent and incredibly disturbing inability to articulate the Queen's English when in the company of Scorp's equally tongue-tied _pater familias_.

Oh, ho! Eureka!

_Hah_! Bloody fucking **HAH**!

"I'm going to kill you, you little wanker!" Scorpius roared, rising. "You set me up!"

He lunged for Al, who'd meanwhile ducked, scuttled, and was in process of clambering over the intervening table.

"Eeep!" Al squeaked, bolting. "Down, boy!"

"You set me up!" Scorp thundered a second time, a red tide rising before his grey eyes. "You made us into a bloody example, Al Potter! I'm going to kill you!"

Al dodged and shimmied like the Seeker he was.

"I was just showing my love for you, mate!" he called back over his shoulder, having grabbed his book bag and taken off in a massive rush.

Scorp quickly clamped down on the strap of his own, growling ever more ominously, and followed after in quick-march time.

"Remember you said once it was all about love, Scorp, you and me?" Al threw at him, still three or four steps ahead. "Well, I was just demonstrating, alright?"

"_Al_-bus Sev-er-us _Pot_-ter!" Scorp gritted, infuriated nearly beyond even his considerable verbal capacity, but not quite. "You stop right now, right here, you twat! Face the fucking music, Al Potter! How _could_ you? You've ruined us, prick! My Dad'll hex me to bits! Your Dad will likely send me of to Azkaban for even thinking about touching you!"

"But I _do_ love you, Scorpius Malfoy." Al insisted at the top of his lungs, ignoring all the very sensible points his lover was making. He grinned evilly at Scorp's white face and parted lips. "And don't you think it's about time everyone knows it? I know I do!"

They were nearing the double doors; behind them a whole herd of their schoolfellows were avidly attending their progress, keeping tabs on the mobile drama unfolding before them all. And behind the four great House tables was the Head Table and Scorp could just hear his father's pained gasp and the Headmasters' faint "Er, what? What's going on _now_, Draco?"

"Grrrrr!" Scorp growled, accelerating. All thoughts of ducking into the loo were vanished; he'd just have to live with his bloody boner. "Merlin, Al! You ninny! Come back here, this instant!"

Al only giggled over his shoulder, scampering just ahead of Scorp's outstretched hand and pounding feet and just shy of the twin doors leading out to the wide corridor that somehow—magically—connected all the many levels of Hogwarts Castle.

All about them rose the other Houses, collectively, shrieking and snorting, huffing and pointing, and making an enormous fuss and bother at the sight of one Al Potter actively fleeing before one Scorp Malfoy. Ravenclaws never did such rash things; to see it before them was a major shocker—worthy of everyone's attention.

Scorp, single-minded in pursuit of his contrary lover, ignored them completely, only focusing in on the pert features of the boy he'd adored from first meeting at the Express platform—he just didn't generally admit to that emotion, understandably enough. And why should he? Self-preservation was key! It was only very recently he'd discovered his all-powerful father wasn't likely to smite him for being smitten with a Potter!

Potters did make for strange bedfellows, though; of that, Scorp was certain.

"Besides—you deserve it, you prissy-pants git!"

Albus danced a merry little jig, having turn about to walk backwards, and jabbed an accusing finger in Scorp's direction. He was sing-songing insults, in such a way that caused all the fine hairs on Scorp's nape to ruffle in ire.

"You can't hide us forever, you know! We're an item! We're together! Long live Scorp and Al, people!"

"Eh?" the crowd murmured behind them.

"Salazar on a bleeding stick!" Professor Malfoy exclaimed. "That lame-brained Potter boy!"

"Erm, excuse me?" the Headmaster inquired mildly. "Draco? Draco, do tell me what's going on now? What're the boys up to, Draco?"

"Shut up, Potter!"

"**WHAT**?" Scorp howled, over the top and still shooting skywards. "What's _that_ mean, Al? You've come up with a bloody cheer for us now? How **dare** you? And shut the fuck up, would you? I don't wish to die painfully, thanks ever so!"

"Catch me, git!" Al teased. "Make me! Bet you can't do it!"

_Very understandable, really, keeping mum_, Scorp rationalized to himself as he ran hell for leather after the now actively fleeing Albus Potter. What with their dad's issues and all! No one wanted a brassed-out, apoplectic Boy Who Lived fetching up on his Manor's impressively carved marble doorsill, demanding blood and satisfaction and duels of honour at dawn…did they?

"Pshaw!" Scorp huffed at the very idea. "You arse, Albus! You've gone and done it—we're for it! Tosser!"

"Told you I'd tell them, Scorp—can't deny it _now_, can you?" Al taunted him from the precarious safety of but ten paces distance, skittering his bloody-minded but bodacious arse entirely out the main set of doors and darting off down the main corridor towards Ravenclaw, all the while. Scorp was not a heartbeat behind him and gaining.

"GRRR!"

"Now they both know, don't they—everyone does, you prick!" Al laughed aloud highly pleased with himself. "So, hah! Hah-hah-very HAH! Stupid Scorp. You should've agreed this morning if you wanted to avoid that. All on your own head, prat—you had it coming!"

"Argghh! I _am_ going to kill you for that, Al Potter—I'm going to kill you so baaad!" Scorpius snarled, the sheer force of his combined ire and his humongous, unrelenting hard-on impelling him at triple time after that fast disappearing but very beguiling bum.

"Can't catch me!" Al sang out, practically dancing down the echoing hall. "Can't! Can. _Not_!"

"Come back here, you runt!" Scorp howled. "I'm going to give you what for! That was unforgivable, git! We're dead meat, thanks to you!"

"Hah!" Al sneered. "You'll have to get to me first, Malfoy! And I bet you can't, slowtop! I just bet you can't! Creepy crawly bottom feeder—frightened little girl! Scared of his own silly shadow!"

"**GRRRR**!"

Thus began the Great Potter-Malfoy Race back to the safety of Ravenclaw House; the last bloke arriving there being a dirty, rotten, egg-on-face plonker. And likely in detention till bloody Doomsday.

"Oh, yeah?" Scorp hissed, upping his pace, knocking screaming Firsties this way and sundry.

Gaping faces rose up before him, fell to idiot gawping, and then fell behind in a blur and a rush. All he could hear was the pounding thud of his pulse and the crepe-soled clatter of Albus Potter's retreating footsteps.

"Oh, _yeah_? We'll see about that!"

"Hah" Al was clearly unrepentant.

"Now, boys. A word with you, if you please."

Professor Malfoy entered the fast-moving fray at a speedy sneaky gallop and darted in sideways, close on their heels. He nearly cut his son off at the pass.

"Dad!" Scorp yelped. "Jeez, Dad! Watch out!"

"You _will_ stop that this instant and account for yourselves!" Professor Malfoy panted, falling slightly behind as Scorp put on a burst of speed out of sheer self-protection. "Scorpius! Albus Potter! Halt!"

Coming right behind Scorp's angry father was the Headmaster, making tracks in a grim and rather ominous manner. His scarred brow was furrowed, his flowing mop of still mostly raven hair a right mess. He seemed, to Scorp's assessing eye, highly perturbed with them all, the Professor included.

"**HOLD** **UP**," the Headmaster ordered. "Mr. Malfoy! Scorpius, I say! Do wait up a moment! Albus! Al, where's your hurry? Hang on, you two!"

"Yessir!" Scorp yelped, dodging and gasping. Albus—that loud-mouthed wanker—was a blue-and-yellow flash in the far distance; he had to catch up! Couldn't lose the little prick now—not with both fathers out for blood. Someone had to take the fall and it was better him, with his gift of Malfoy gab and his Greengrass charm "Oh—but! No! Can't—do—it—sorry!"

"Scor-pi-us Hy-per-i-on Mal-foy!" his Dad snarled, white teeth snapping nearly in Scorp's terribly flushed and buzzing ear. "You _will_ halt! You. Will. **Not**. Pass!"

"Nossir," Scorp gabbled tactfully, seeing his chance and taking it, ducking under his Dad's out-flung arm like some superstar pro Seeker. "But, sir! I—can't actually—he's getting away! See? See!"

Seeking, true enough, was typically Al's forte but no Malfoy was ever counted a total slouch or divan tuber, either up upon a racing broom or planted firmly on his quicksilver, fleet-as-Hermes feet. Scorp ran for his bloody life, then, knowing that if his father caught up to him, there'd be far worse than any old plebian hell to pay.

"Of course not, sir!" he panted politely, hurtling past his Dad finally and making real progress. Al was again but a few short yards ahead. "I'll just—please excuse us—won't be a moment—wait right here! Back soon!"

"Scorpius!" His father was adamant, apparently. Not letting go of this one; he'd the bit firmly in his well-bred teeth. The Headmaster merely appeared confused, which likely had his poor old Dad all a'tizzy.

Scorp risked a second fleeting glance over his shoulder, only to shudder in apprehension at the sight of that steely jaw and those glittering grey eyes. Best to give his Dad—and Al's—time to cool down, he decided, weighing odds and parameters. What was that Muggle quote about the better part of valour? Oh, yes! Flight was definitely the course of choice at the moment.

"**Scorpius**!"

He positively hauled arse on the strength of that precept, gaining that necessary edge.

"Oh, hey!" Albus burbled happily back at Scorp, grinning over a trim shoulder. 'Thought you'd never catch me up, mate. Where were you, sweetcheeks? Stop to fasten your shoelace?"

"_Wanker_! Ah! Not you, Dad! Sorry!" Scorp wheezed, flapping a placating hand in one last attempt to make nice before beating feet well and truly beyond his father's extended hexing range.

Hopefully, too, that would translate to being beyond the Headmaster's rather terrifyingly awesome one, for there he was, Al's famous father, practically treading on his own papa's heels, still mumbling a confused litany of 'Erm?'s and 'Draco?'s.

Really, they were pathetic. Scorp had to give it to Al; he did know how to call 'em.

"Scorpius!" his father growled nastily, clearly incensed and also clearly looming on the immediate rear horizon. "You heard me! Stop right there! Not another step, young man, or you'll be sorry!"

"No, no!" Scorp pleaded his case whilst trotting doggedly ever onward. "Don't you see? Gotta do this—gonna skin 'im—little prick—see you after—_promise_!"

"Scor-pi-_ussss_!"

"Oh, now!" Headmaster scolded. "Tone, Draco!"

Scorp gulped, trying desperately to think what else he should be doing, other than capturing Al and whaling the life out of him, with perhaps a quickie after in a broom closet—oh, yes, he should apologize in advance. Profusely. To every father in his sight line. Mitigation was always helpful when doom loomed.

"Oh, and sorry, Dad! 'Pologies, Headmaster! Terribly sorry, but it's like this—absolutely must catch him—'kay? Er—thanks! 'Bye!"

"You slippery, evil, rotten, ungrateful little devil, Scorpius!" His father pronounced in a very awful way. "You'll pay for this, mark my words!"

"Draco! Hush, now," the Headmaster panted peacefully. "It can't possibly be that bad, can it? They're only boys!"

"Of course it can be, Potter—precisely because they are!"

Professor Malfoy halted at last, fully twenty paces behind his fleeing son and rapidly becoming a distant blot in Scorpius's churning wake. He was red-faced and huffing after his sprint but still protesting in his typical restrained Malfoy manner.

"Did you see in the Great Hall just now?" the Professor demanded of the Headmaster. "Those two little gits were practically fornicating on the table, Potter! Unforgivable!"

He snorted.

"Malfoy!" the scandalized Headmaster pleaded breathily, puffing. "Jeez, Draco, cool your jets! He _is_ your son, you know?"

"Oh, I know he is, Potter. Believe me when I say I _know_. Now, Scorpius."

His dad turned his attention back to his heir's rapidly departing figure, touching his wand lightly to his throat. .

"I'm out of patience with you as it is, son," he announced, using Sonorous so there wasn't one single person in Hogwarts Great Hall and its immediate environs who wasn't informed of that. He even curled his upper lip in the finest Malfoy tradition, one eyebrow so far up his pale forehead it threatened to disappear, just like Scorp's rapidly skedaddling boyfriend. "Don't try me further! If you're not both sitting promptly at detention in my office in twenty minutes, it will be all your bloody House points I take, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy—every single one!"

"Malfoy!" the Headmaster gasped, having completely caught up to Scorp's Dad. "Really, now!" He staggered and the Professor caught him carefully by the waist and set him to tights.

"Draco!"

Headmaster Potter clutched his knees and bent over, clearly out of breath yet, his robes of office still swirling about him.

"Really! He's just a child—they both are, rea—_Oi_! About that, Draco...what in the world was the meaning of that little display, just now? Explain yourself, Draco! That was my son molesting yours, you know! _Did_ you know?"

"Shut it, Potter!" Scorp's Dad snapped, blushing. "It was nothing! Nothing! Don't regard it, please. We'll discuss it later, I promise."

Scorp slowed his pace just a tad, but only because Al had. The little git was clearly curious as to what their fathers were getting up to.

As was the rest of Hogwarts, which had, _en masse_, spilt out of the Great Hall, abandoning supper, and was crowding quietly about the edges of the Malfoy-Potter Race course.

"It was _not_ nothing, Draco," the Headmaster insisted firmly, rising up at last to full height and muscling forward, so that he, too, was effectively up a Malfoy nose. "I saw what I saw, git! Explain to me exactly what is gong on here?"

"Potter!"

Professor Malfoy clearly wished to explain nothing of the kind; indeed, he was sidling crab-ways, in a stealthy 'I'm planning to Apparate the feck out of this any moment except I can't because it's bloody _this_ place!' motion.

"Hush! It's a private matter, truly. Between my son and myself, really, and your—your son, too. Right, erm, so!" Professor Malfoy blushed scarlet, sending a surprised murmur through the crowd. "And only as they're both Ravenclaws—which is my House, Headmaster. So you see there's absolutely no need for you—"

"Draco?"

Huge green eyes were turned upon Professor Malfoy; the Professor abruptly stopped his fruitless excuses and simply blinked in reply, three shades of raspberry darker yet.

"Draco, really? Because what I saw was distinctly familiar—reminded me of—"

"Shush. Potter—please, I beg you! Not now!"

"Hah! Yes, now!"

Al chortled from his vantage point of relative safety, though he was nearly under Scorp's fast-gaining nose. He wheeled 'round on a heel, coming finally to near crawl. Scorp set his teeth grimly and stepped up a careful pursuit, edging ever nearer but subtly, lest Al should spook.

"Ooooh, Professor Malfoooy?" Al sang out, or rather bellowed mellifluously in order to even be heard down clearly the echoing, crowded length of the main bloc corridor of Hogwarts proper. "And Dad! Oi, Dad! You should ask him again, Dad! Do what I did, alright?"

"Er, what?" the Headmaster sent a perplexed stare after his middle child. He shook his head, as if hard of hearing. "What's that, Al? And why were you snogging young Scorpius, Al? Is there something you should be telling me?"

"Oooh!" Claudia Anne Bones squealed, ever so quietly, "now he's gone and done it!"

She was summarily shushed, Ravenclaws closing ranks all about her.

"Oh, not _me_, Dad! Him!" Al pointed at the stymied Head of Ravenclaw, Draco Malfoy, looming pink-cheeked and blinking by the Headmaster's left shoulder. "Ask Scorp's Dad, alright? Make him say what it's all about, Dad! Ask the Professor!"

"Er, whom?" Harry Potter asked, peering about him. "Him? Draco, you mean, Al?"

Professor Malfoy had nearly—meanwhile—effected an escape down a tiny tributary hallway that lead to the darkness of Slytherin. Scorp knew about this from Al's Map. However, Headmaster Potter stuck out a lightning fast fist and grabbed him. The Professor flinched but held steady, eyes glued to the flagstones.

"Ahhh!" Professors Flitwick and Longbottom exchanged meaningful nods. "Mmmm."

"Hush, now, boys," Poppy Pomfrey scolded them and under her keen eye, they quieted.

"Oh, no, you don't Draco!" the beleaguered Headmaster chided. He waved an admonitory finger at the Professor. "You're not going anywhere just yet!"

"Professor! Dad!" Al insisted. "Come on."

Scorp decided Al must be on some sort of kamikaze mission; by rights he should be taking advantage of the unexpected lull in pursuit and finding himself safer environs.

"Don't you have something to say to one another?" Al pestered them. "Something…important, maybe? Something you've both been wanting to mention for ages?"

Al—that total barking loon, or so Scorp concluded he really must be, despite his inexplicable Sorting which had plopped the Slytherin-tricksy, Gryffindor-gall-ful git squarely in with the Boring Blue-Bronze Birds of the Library—persisted.

Likely, Scorp concluded, this was another diversionary tactic, one that would draw their father's combined fire and help them to forget that he, an innocent by-sitter and completely free of ill intentions, had nearly been helped to full-out orgasm by Ravenclaw's famous Seeker practically smack under their noses just now. And likely Al would then go on to say something even more shocking, just before he slipped 'round some previously unsuspected corner known only to Peeves and Potters and—also very likely—disappeared down some discreetly hidden escape route.

Wherever the little git got to, though, Scorp planned on being there, right next to him. They'd business to settle! His highly anxious cock, for one; their brand-new state of being outed, for another.

But Dad was finally speaking again, so Scorp strained to listen carefully. This one damned corridor had to be the longest ever!

"Yes, Albus Severus?" Scorp's Dad raised a frosty brow, fretfully jiggling his elbow where Al's Dad had a really very solid grip upon it. "You had something you wished to say to me?"

"Look, take it up with my Dad, Professor! Like I told you-confront him; he's a Gryffindor, alright? He'll get that, I bet—or better, yet, use Slytherin tactics! Make a scene, Professor—a public one. Do it up right proud and don't hold back, 'kay? And make sure to ask my Dad why _he_ came chasing after you, alright? Just ask him—he'll tell you!"

"What?" Professor Malfoy gasped. He jumped a bit and slowly turned to stare at Al's Dad, who was blatantly staring at him. "Um. Your son? Just now." The Headmaster nodded slowly. Professor Malfoy gulped and carried on. "Er..then. Why did you, actually...?"

"Ah—oh!" Headmaster opened his mouth and flushed a lovely shade of pale rose. "Ah...D-Draco? I can explain that, actually, just—not…here?"

As one man they blushed, full body, the two of them, staring intently into one another's rapt eyes. The entire corridor was still as a catacomb. Pins could've been dropped and heard for miles away. No one spoke, nor shifted an inch nor even breathed—not even Al or Scorp.

"Harry," Scorp's father breathed, almost inaudibly. "If not…here, then…maybe?"

"Draco!" Al's addled pater whispered, pink of cheek. "That's—I mean, that's…really…very—yes!"

"You know I've always—"

Draco Malfoy picked his way cautiously closer, yet remained somehow oblivious to greater gang of students and faculty who had gathered to observe.

"Wanted to say this—" the Professor seemed to run into sudden difficulties, because he didn't. Say whatever it was, after all.

"Um, Draco?" the Headmaster prompted. "You—I—it's alright, really."

"You're joking me," Scorp muttered to himself. "This is what all that was about? Good gawds!"

"Is it? Is it really, Harry?"

The Head of Ravenclaw House seemed very unsure. He actually shuffled his feet; Scorpius sneered. In all his short life, he'd never once witnessed his father backpedal over _anything_. This must be serious—as serious as Al claimed.

…As serious as he and Al were, likely.

"Me, too," Harry Potter replied. "Er, for me, too, I meant. Um…do-do you think we might?"

"Ye-es," Draco Malfoy allowed, venturing a pace closer. "I, um. I think I'd like that. Actually, yes. If _you_ like."

Stationed but a hair's breadth away from Scorp's absorbed person and grinning his silly-arse head off, Albus Potter nearly collapsed into a grand fit of chuckles, green eyes merry as gigs.

"What idiots!" he snickered wickedly from behind a palm, watching as the two elder Wizards carefully paced out a dance of strangely inarticulate courtship, right there before the eyes of all. "No concept, really, the poor old fogies. I mean, we did better than this, didn't we, Scorp? At least we have style!"

Scorp, oddly entranced by the sight of Al's Dad extending one hand very slowly to capture his own father's tremulous one, had to agree. The old folks were catatonically slow on the bloody uptake. They lacked the sheer brilliant verve of one Al Potter and they clearly could benefit from a dose of his own dogged determination and crystal-clear thought process.

Oh well. To each his own. Scorp nodded absentmindedly at Al—and then noticed Al had taken the opportunity to quietly scarper off again, the bloody little rabbit.

"Ho!" he cried out, indignant. "Get your arse back here, Al! We've matters to settle, you and I!"

"Catch as catch can, Scorpius!" Al's giggle was already fading. "And I wager you can't catch me!"

"Oh, Harry!" Scorp's father blurted in the distance, his long arms wrapping tight 'round the blushing Headmaster, "I've been wanting this, Harry. Badly. I can finally admit it."

"Draco!" the Headmaster gasped, snuggling into those Malfoy arms as if he were born to be there, all along. "Really? No lie?"

"Idiot Harry," Scorp's Dad scolded and gathered the Headmaster into an impassioned embrace. Some members of the audience came close to swooning; others snapped QuikPix™ on their magical cellulars for later sharing. "I love how you're so amazingly dense, you know that? It's—it's oddly adorable."

"It is?" Headmaster seemed very pleased to learn that. "Um, thanks!"

"Ick-yuck! Spare me!" Scorp moaned. "Ack—that little bastard. _Now_ where did he go?"

Scorp took the influx of elder-person romance in the corridor as his cue to depart. Detention no longer seemed like an immediate threat, but then why take any unnecessary chances? Besides, Al had yet to explain himself to Scorp's full satisfaction, the little tease. They could've waited till they graduated, by Merlin's hairy big bollocks. Scorp had conceived a very nice plan for it, the whole process of breaking it gently to their families. There'd really been no need to create such a huge fuss as they had, just now.

And he _still_ sported a fucking hard-on the size and firmness of Al's broomstick!

No, Al was definitely overstepping some critical boundaries here, even if it was for a good cause. He'd strayed firmly into Slytherin territory—with a decided dash of sheer Gryffindor guts-n-glory—and was in danger of abandoning his Ravenclaw precepts imminently. Someone had to set Al Potter back on the straight-and-narrow and that person would obviously be one Scorpius Malfoy, what?

And besides...Scorp's stiffie was approaching bloody critical mass, what with all this Malfoy-Potter touching going on everywhere he cast an eye! Something had to be done about that, right smart!

He took off running after Al at a fast clip, just like he always did. Not a noted Chaser for nothing, Scorp Malfoy. Maybe he wasn't quite in Al's league, who could definitely go for a pro position after graduation.

But...no sweat, really, Scorp realized. This wasn't a biggie; in fact, it wasn't even a real contest. He'd be the victor in the bitter end and he knew it—Al always did bloody beg to be caught.

"Shall we?" the Headmaster meanwhile enquired of Professor Malfoy, thrilling the already enthralled audience to new heights. "Because I really want to—but not in—not here. Ah. Erm, uh. Elsewhere? You know?"

"Last one there's a rotter, Potter!"

Professor Malfoy knew instantly what the bungling Headmaster meant to say, being both quick on the uptake and a long-time, facile translator of spoken Potterese.

"Right, come on," he urged, providing helpful little nudge in the direction of the Headmaster's Quarters. "Don't lag, prat, or I'll change the bloody password on you when I arrive first."

"You wish!"

That had the Headmaster's eyes sparkling. He even made as if to take off in a race of their very own, crouching down with knees bent, awaiting only the word to go.

"Foolish Potter," Professor Malfoy cooed. "Bet you can't catch me!"

"Git," the Headmaster replied, fondly. "Er, ready? We'll, um, do it together."

The Professor swallowed and blushed charmingly. The Headmaster only grinned in reply, capturing his Deputy's hand in his own, which immediately elicited a great sighing sound from their unnoticed audience.

"Steady? Go!"

"You're _on_, Potter!"

Then they too fled, loping off and upwards at a rather sprightly pace—for decrepit codgers. In their forties, they were, and to their currently skiving, skulking sons they were rather more ancient than Zeus himself.

"Oh, now, really! No running in the halls, boys! How many times must I say it?"

It was Madame Pomfrey who called out after them, her hands firmly planted on her wide hips. She tutted gravely, sending a minatory glance about the ranks of gathered masses, from blushing Firstie Huffles to toplofty Ravenclaw Prefects, and even unto the gossiping persons of Professors Flitwick and Longbottom. All of whom, needless to mention, abruptly collected themselves and their various dignities, scattered away like so much chaff before a brisk wind…resident faculty included.

"Well!" she sniffed, mainly to herself but also to Headless Nick, who'd remained dawdling curiously when the corridor was once again bared of company and free of drama. "Shocking! I say, Sir Nicholas! Have you ever? And in the Great hall, too! Children these days—absolutely no manners at all, Sir Nicholas." She shook her grey bun wearily. "Whatever do they teach them in lessons?"

Sir Nicholas cocked his head in attentive enquiry, an effect difficult to achieve when it was more than half-off already. He shrugged his transparent shoulders complacently and sent Madame a sympathetic look.

"Oh, well, I don't know about, dear lady," he replied. "It's about the same as it always was, mayhap? Some things never do change, you know."

"Too, too right, my dear Sir Nicholas," Madame agreed, bobbing her chins and staring vaguely off into the distance in the direction of now disappeared Potter-Malfoy contingent. "Your point. There's nothing much new under the sun, really."

Finite


End file.
